


lockdown

by guide_to_the_galaxy



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Brain Damage, Family, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Memory Loss, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-16 13:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21508591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guide_to_the_galaxy/pseuds/guide_to_the_galaxy
Summary: Nobody knows exactly when things started going to shit but with the most accuracy, it starts something like this:Donnie hates the way rain feels.
Comments: 21
Kudos: 186





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotmuffincrumbs](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hotmuffincrumbs).



> a short lil commission for my friend, hotmuffincrumbs! in which donnie suffer :(

Nobody knows exactly when things started going to shit but with the most accuracy, it starts something like this:

Donnie hates the way rain feels.

He wishes he didn’t. The sounds are always pleasant, especially when they’re over at April’s and it hits against her window like rocks. But standing out in it, his hoodie at least blocking some of the feeling, Donnie absolutely hates the rain.

He’s glad he has Mikey, though; Donnie is almost _always_ glad he has his brother. Because Mikey doesn’t mind it, or climbing in and out of piles of garbage with him to find just one piece of some useful scrap metal. That, and Mikey has a good eye for things Donnie might not really get the sense of. He sees the use in pretty much anything.

So Donnie is _fine._ He can bear a little bit of the icky feeling that makes his skin crawl for a while. He’s got Mikey and conversation and the thrill that comes with scavenging to distract his mind.

“I just don’t get why people would throw perfectly good garbage away,” Donnie mumbles, his teetering on the edge of the dumpster and rummaging through it.

“I know,” Mikey says as he opens a new black bag, taking whatever Donnie hands to him, “I dead don’t understand humans man. They get a lot of cool stuff _easy-_ and just throw it away!”

Donnie hums in agreement, the metal of the dumpster amplifying the sound. “Twas true, twas true. But all the better for us, correct?”

“Righto.”

“See, Michael,” Donnie says, lowering himself to his feet and dusting himself off, “The thing about humans, besides April, is that they’re _dumb.”_

It’s not an opinion, it’s an _observation_ , and the turtles were well versed in the study that Humankind was totally amazing and perplexing and stupid and wonderful. It’s just a fact of life. At least Mikey knew so, because that’s what Donnie explained.

And so they carry on in the rain, lugging their findings around Brooklyn, bantering and pretending and Donnie doesn’t think of the rain much at all. And he doesn’t think of anything else, really, besides the time he’s having now- and that’s unusual.

And that’s where it begins.

It’s a small, miniscule thing at first. Mikey is talking about mapping out their next scouting and texting Raph about what groceries they’re lacking and Donnie is listening…he is, but his head buzzes like a soft grating that he can only ignore partway.

He’s soaked at this point, and that should bother him, but the sound is more troublesome than the downpour or the fact that he’s taking too many steps in one sidewalk square than he ought to.

“….not getting milk. I dunno why Raph keeps asking for milk, he’s super intolerant to it,” Mikey says, rolling his eyes and pockets his phone in the little pack across his plastron.

“Yeah…” Donnie responds, hesitant, and looks around the street they’re on. He thinks it’s Prospect, he knows he should know it.

He can see the bridge.

It’s not all that dark, there’s street lamps and store signs to illuminate the night, though the lights blur in the rain and make the soft buzzing transition to a piercing whine in Donatello’s head.

It’s loud and it drowns out whatever’s coming from Mikey’s moving lips, or the sound of the rain, the noise of water splashing from cars- people inside those cars who hardly notice two adolescent sized turtles are standing by a bench and a bus stop, one on the verge of-

“Donnie…” Mikey’s voice is unwavering as he holds him by the shoulders, “Hey, where’d you go?”

His eyes search Donnie’s, but Donnie can’t recognize a thing. His hand twitches and he looks around the street for a hint of familiarity.

It never comes, only black spots in his vision and the instinctive calling to flee.

* * *

Anxiety. That’s what Donnie so desperately calls it. He’s had it since he was seven, and so it’s _fine. He’s fine._

He wakes up, he’s staring up at Leo and Raph, crouched beside him with damp cloths and eyes shaped by worry. Donnie hates that a little more than the pounding headache he’s got. He hates to make them worry.

“Where’s Mikey?” he asks first, the only thing to come to mind, and his brothers exchange a brief look Donnie can’t read.

“Freaking out,” Raph says, but keeps his voice soft, and tries to smile a little, “He thought you were dead.”

If it’s supposed to ease Donnie, it works. He sags a little, letting his body relax. “I’m fine,” he says before his brothers can ask, “Are you guys okay?”

They stare back at him funnily enough to make Donnie wonder about that, sitting up partially.

“Yeah,” Leo laughs, something off that Donnie can’t entirely place, shaking off whatever expression that had flashed, briefly, “Yeah, we’re cool. Everyone’s cool. We just um…you don’t. You don’t remember anything?”

Rolling his eyes, Donnie lets himself lay back to the floor, _“Stop.”_

“Maybe Pops can check you out, though,” Raph suggests, giving Donnie a little space, “You know, just in case.”

“Negative,” Donnie mumbles with little inflection, “Dad…shouldn’t have to worry. And neither should you two. You can leave me now.”

“In the middle of the garage?” Leo asks, cocking his head, though Donnie doesn’t see with his eyes closed.

That explains the bright light. He opens his eyes in slits, “Mm. Yeah..” he says, groggily.

It only takes a second for Raph to huff overly loud and yank Donnie up as gently as he could, heaving his brother over his shoulder. And Donnie whines all the way out the garage and past the den and through the hallway, but hardly puts up a fight.

There’s no fighting Raph when he’s all determined like this, and Donnie’s _tired._ He’s fine but he’s so tired.

They pass by Mikey, who’s hauling blankets, who drops said blankets when he sees Donnie.

“Oh shit!” he laughs, gathering up the blankets, “You’re alive!”

“Unfortunately…” Donnie mumbles.

“Stop that,” Raph chides, because he absolutely hates that, which is sometimes why Donnie says shit like that, and they slip into Donnie’s room and Raph sets him gently in his bed.

Donnie barely registers what else his brothers say before sleep claims him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The papers. Donnie watches the papers. They’re lulling, the way they sway with the breeze. But they’re inside, there shouldn’t be a breeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sets this down gently*

When Donnie wakes up again the world is different.

It’s the same…as when he went to bed he’s sure. It feels the same, somehow, but he hardly recognizes it, looking around.

He’s taken back to the street he first felt this way on. Acutely, he remembers some details, but it all feels inky and too thick to wade through.

Donnie goes to move the covers off of him when Mikey sits straight up from the beanbag he planted down beside Dee’s bed.

They lock eyes for a moment, and Donnie’s head stalls in what to really say to his brother. He knows, at least, that it is his brother.

Donnie blinks. He’s staring at Mikey and his head buzzes loudly, like static. All over again. He starts breathing quicker without realizing it until Mikey places his hand over Donnie’s knee.

His mouth is moving but Donnie only hears his own heartbeat pounding.

“…call Pops. It’s okay…” His brother goes to walk away but Donnie grabs his wrist.

“I’m fine…” he says, slowly and thickly, “Just…got dizzy.”

“Donnie…” Mikey says like a warning, because he knows his brother and he knows that Donnie often can be dramatic about all the small things, but major things, he downplays.

And Donnie goes to say his brother’s name but his brain stalls again.

“Promise. Stay here.” He says, but it sounds desperate to his own ears. Short and choppy and not at all what he wanted to say to his brother.

Mikey’s eyes soften, and crease in concern.

“I can…” he says, lowering himself to the water mattress, “But you gotta tell me what’s going on, Donnie. No bullshit.”

The words are all there, everything he wants to say- _needs_ to say. But Donnie only finds himself distracted by the way his papers move on the bulletin board above his smaller workstation. Maybe the air is pushing out through the vent. He does feel colder.

“I um…feel. Feel that,” he starts to say, still stuck staring at the moving papers, “Just tired. Anxiety, I guess…I’m okay.”

It makes better sense in his own head, but with the way Mikey’s staring, Donnie knows it probably doesn’t. He’s used to that, in some ways- used to not being fully understood. But this, he feels, is simple. And still his brothers stick around and worry.

“Okay sure,” Mikey says, hesitating, “But your anxiety doesn’t usually make you…you know, _this.”_

This, Donnie thinks, would be a perfect time to say bullshit that sounds accurate enough to placate Mikey’s concerns, but then he knows his brother is smart in ways Donnie lacks, in perception of people. He’d look through it anyway and, anyway, they’ve all pretty much educated themselves on a shitton of mental health things.

Bottom line: Mikey would _know._

The papers. Donnie watches the papers. They’re lulling, the way they sway with the breeze. But they’re inside, there shouldn’t be a breeze.

Donnie slides off the bed before Mikey can pull him back; he forgets Mikey is even here anymore. It’s just Donnie, and the papers.

His legs feel like lead so his feet shuffle and he holds onto the desk for support, simply staring at the slight movement of the papers. Doesn’t recognize the words scribbled on them. Donnie only knows that he’s still tiring, and cold and hungry.

He goes to reach out for the papers when a hand catches his, touch light but it still makes Donatello jump at the contact.

The hand is green, but not in the same way as Donnie’s. It tugs. He follows.

Back to the bed. More green hands come in passing time, and a clawed hand over his forehead. Muffled, Donnie recognizes voices, but can’t place the origin or where they’re going. Just sound.

He wants to understand those papers, and why exactly do they move.

* * *

“Okay there’s _obviously_ something wrong.”

They’re in the kitchen, a sorta meeting ground for serious things or late night talks over sandwiches and cold pizza, or just to vent while the other’s cooking because the smell of the spices and things is calming at best.

“Like a concussion or something?” Mikey asks, taking his share of cold pizza from the fridge.

From his corner of the kitchen, Leo huffs, sagging against the counter, “I guess? But he was just fine, like before you two left.”

Raph is quiet, tapping nervously. A habit he got when under pressure; he had two extremes, talking a lot, or not at all and there was hardly a medium between the two. And if Raph was quiet, like this, he must be trying to process.

“Okay, like, I know he said he’s _fine_ but that’s making this shit even _more_ sus.” Leo adds, “Or is that just me?”

“Not just you…” walking into the kitchen, Splinter takes his position, climbing up on the bar stool, “We must all watch Purple, he is not a very good liar.”

“So we just wait till he passes out like full-on 2012 incident?” Mikey says through a grimace and around a mouthful of pizza.

“Oh god, not 2012…” Raph mumbles, coming slightly out of his own head.

(Incident 2012: Donnie got freaking _double pneumonia_ and insisted he was fine just about until he passed flat out in the lab alone for thirty some minutes before anyone noticed)

“We will not…” Splinter says, sternly, “We will commence Operation…Stalk Your Brother Till He Caves.”

Leo, Raph and Mikey collectively groan, sinking in their own respective places in the kitchen.

* * *

Donnie knows he’s at least hungry, but that’s about all he can really understand. Any food brought to him feels wrong on his tongue but he thanks his brothers the best he can, even if it feels like forcing up something stuck in his throat.

He flexes his fingers and feels a wave of sickness overtake him. A nausea born from true anxiety this time.

And he’s in his lab but can’t seem to make sense of the numbers and figures in front of him, on the paper that used to move, or how he got here from the other room he was in. But Donnie listens to his body, and lets it take him where he needs to be.

He feels the dread well up in waves, and sniffs, feeling his eyes burn.

“Calm down,” he tells himself, whispers it fiercely like a prayer, “Please, _please_ just…calm down.”

Donnie spreads out the papers and plants both his hands at his desk, shaking little things that sit on top of it. “We need to focus.”

His hands shake as he sorts through what he feels is important or not- but it’s only a feeling, Donnie isn’t sure he knows any better either way.

And though none of the words make sense to him, the pictures he understands, digesting it in stride.

A photo: it’s him. Here. In this room, this lab. Maybe. In his hand, a dissected mosquito.

* * *

_“Tell me why we have to take a picture of that…?”_

_Donnie’s lab is always clutter, but it’s the only place he feels okay with mess. Mostly because it’s mess he understands, and mess that’s his, that he creates. The chaos of his atmosphere is like setting a mood for his day’s work. Like ambiance or something._

_“Because-” He slides his pass time projects to the side, clearing the way for the several cut open Oozquitos in little petri dishes he stole from April’s school._

_“Every scientific breakthrough…”_

_“Requires documentation!” Mikey finishes, and takes the picture, and a few dozen more._

_“See?” Donnie grins, presenting Mikey before his two, less than enthused brothers, “A prodigy. Now you all are excused, the reverse engineering of these ugly little babies can get messy.”_

_The cool thing, cooler, perhaps, than this science, is that his brothers stay._

* * *

Donnie drags himself away from his lab, his body feels heavier and languid and he makes it to where he knows his brothers are.

He can’t gather his thoughts but he places the picture down on the kitchen counter he leans on for support, and lifts his eyes across it to Mikey.

And when their eyes meet, Donnie knows his brother understands.

* * *

Usually at this time, they go out to look for trouble or something to eat or whatever comes first in the mix. Fights relieve stress and so does good food so either way it’s a win.

This feels different, though.

In and out of cognition, Donnie trails slowly behind, his goggles blocking out some of the overstimulation that this environment brings. And though he doesn’t know this place, the fact that his brothers navigate it with ease is enough for Donnie to feel safer than maybe he ought to.

His hand is in Leo’s, he thinks, being tugged along. And sometimes his brother will turn and search Donnie’s face, though he looks disappointed at not finding whatever he’s looking for.

“Are the lights bothering you?” he asks, keeping his voice downtempo.

 _Yes,_ something in Donnie answers. But he’d have to move his lips and work his throat to convey it, and that’s…out of order at the moment.

“Okay…we’ll be outta here soon,” Leo tells him and so Donnie believes it.

And Leo gives him a look that’s hard to read, a mixture of concern and what tries to be reassurance. Not that Donnie can really absorb that feeling; he knows nothing but this fog that blocks all real coherence and the dread that creeps right on up behind it.

All he knows is that somehow he fucked up, and that if anyone could fix it it’s him. Donnie is more sure of that than anything else right now. Everything else just fades out, out of his reach.

But Donnie trusts Mikey to know- he trusts all his brothers.

He keeps following them until he feels like he can’t anymore, and by then they’re inside a place, the floor is soft. Carpet.

It’s warm. Donnie allows autopilot to take over. He allows his instincts and second nature to carry the weight, and lets whatever lingering consciousness he has to simply rest.

* * *

Leo senses almost instantaneously the shift. Donnie is lumbering along and then he’s just still. And when Leo gets the courage to look at his brother, there’s absolutely nothing there. A blank stare, slowly blinking eyes looking towards nothing at all.

“Guys…” he calls ahead to Raph and Mikey, in the lobby of the hotel, and waits until they stop and turn and see for themselves, “This is new.”

“Donnie?” Mikey’s there- here- in front of their brother in seconds, pulling Donnie down a little to really see him, “We’re almost there, we’re gonna fix it.”

He tells Donnie this, surefire and unwavering, but Leo can’t be too certain, though he wishes for Mikey’s confidence. He doesn’t know a thing about what Donnie does, and maybe that’s incredibly shitty of him, but they can’t fix what they don’t understand.

And this is dangerous territory, obviously, there’s hardly any guarantee things won’t go bad, and that’s a factor Leo almost always has to consider anymore.

He looks to Raph and sees something resolute in his face, in the way he tightens his fist and takes in a breath that straightens him out a little.

_They’ll fix this. They’re not leaving until they do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope yall liked this chapter! Comments are well appreciated aaand pls go check out my TBB fic, The Sun, its Knight and the Trials of Perfecting and Assassination if u want!! It would give me serotonin!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we love angst!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its snowy n icy here in the city and having a sleepy fic-filled day is on my to-do list so i giveth a new chapter- albeit short- for y’all!

Raph is grateful at least that Big Mama decided not to be in her spider form for this. Not that he’s got anything against the way she looked when she _was_ \- it was an incredible sight, really- it’s just not conducive for business deals. **  
**

“You owe us a favor, _technically,”_ Leo tells her, playing it cool, thank god. 

Raph can barely stand right now, because the last thing he thought he’d be doing on a Thursday night was presenting a catatonic brother to someone who may or may not want them dead just because she’s the only one with the ability to fix him. 

A day ago they were at April’s arguing over the value of a pineapple on pizza, and now Raph might lose his little brother to something he didn’t know _could_ be a threat that way. 

It’s easy when he knows the enemy, when he can pinpoint the danger- this though….

Big Mama stretches in her chair, otherwise unfazed. 

“I owe no one favors,” she drawls, and grins at their expense, “Only exchanges, loves. This…for that.” 

_This,_ Raph understands, is dangerous. But it’s necessary. That has to count for something. Raph isn’t good with plans, though, and the stress of this keeps him from being spontaneous. 

And maybe that’s okay; he’s at least still got his brothers to fill in where he lacks. 

Mikey crosses his arms, already looking pissed, “Look, lady we can give you whatever you want. A new toy, _money…”_

Big Mama’s grin widens up to her temples as she keeps her natural form bridled. “Just the boy’s gadgets. And all of his oozy-oozquitos,” she sings, and lets her body transform, snatching up Donnie quicker than Leo can ward her off. 

“So you’ll fix this,” Raph musters, less than a question, “You’ll fix our brother _first.”_

Laughing sweetly, Big Mama sets Donnie aside like he’s nothing, and crawls her way to meet Raph’s face, still smiling, “His gadgets for a peeky-peek. I’m no scientist, but I understand Draxum’s little toys. If it is what the wittle, little one says then it should be no problem!”

“It is a problem,” Leo counters before Raph can, stepping in front of him, “Because you’re shady as hell and handing you our brother’s shit doesn’t guarantee you’ll do anything.” 

Big Mama shrinks, but mostly in the pretense of hurt feelings, “You don’t trust me?” She pouts.

And Raph takes it as his turn to step, “Kinda hard to trust someone with no morals, y’know…” 

They bicker, but from the far corner of her office, where Mikey kneels beside him, Donnie gasps, and sitting upright his eyes dart around the room, and he feels like they’re being squeezed from his head. 

He recognizes the room. 

“Mikey…” he whispers sharply, feeling his chest tighten the longer he watches his brothers argue with Big Mama, and when his brother looks back at him, Donnie hopes he doesn’t see fear, “Mikey, where are we?”

He knows, he doesn’t know why he asks. 

Mikey falters between a smile and a wince, “Well you were kinda out of it and we had to think of a plan, and she’s the next best thing to Draxum-”

Donnie’s heart pounds as he scoots back against the wall, “No, no, no- Mikey this is dangerous, and stupid why didn’t you guys just-”

Big Mama whips around before Donnie can finish, her eyes hungry and eager.

“Ooo delightful! He’s cognizant! Perhaps I fixed him…” she hums, inspecting Donnie with her eyes, and he feels himself slip back into the fog he’s been stuck in. 

Donnie breathes, and stands, “I can assure you, you didn’t.” 

_What the fuck,_ he mouths to his two brothers- to Raph and Leo across Big Mama’s office.

“Dude, we had no way to fix you!” Leo argues, and as if Big Mama _isn’t_ partially blocking his view of his brother, he simply leans to his left to see Donnie fully. 

“Yeah no shit!” he says back, and looks up at Big Mama, “Whatever they promised you is off-”

Mikey pulls Donnie down again; it’s a simple way to ground him. And he’s angry.

“If you think we’re gonna sit and watch you glitch out on us you’re _wrong-”_

Donnie rolls his eyes, like maybe that’ll make this into nothing, “Mikey-”

“Dead wrong,” his brother says, again, steadfast in this, “Donnie you gotta trust us, okay? I know we’re not super geniuses and we can barely understand half of what’s going on but right now neither can you…”

And when Donnie looks down at his brother- _really looks_ \- past whatever shock he’s feeling, he sees that there’s no winning in this. Even if he _could_ think up a loophole right now. But some logical part, buried beneath this breakdown of his head, Donnie thinks he did this, recklessly, and his brothers shouldn’t have to shoulder this. 

He looks to Raph and Leo and sees they’re just as stubborn as Mikey is. Just as sure, somehow. 

So Donnie turns back to Big Mama, though everything in him says he shouldn’t. 

“If you fuck me up worse than right now you’re dead,” he says, and in his next breath, nothing in the room or in his worldview makes sense. There’s _nothing._

Big Mama sighs, content if not annoyed, “Promises.”

And Donnie only hears the crack of something that felt like lightning or just a snap.

Outside the hotel, the three remaining brothers fall through one of Big Mama’s portals, the aftermath of her snap still echoing on the street in the Hidden City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven’t gotten to reply to u all yet but tysm for reading and commenting!! I tear up reading them!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are! the fourth part! this fic was a joy to write, it was nothing like I've ever written before so just thank you so much for sticking around!

**Sometime Before All This Shit**

“I hate when you get like this.”

“Get like what?”

Donnie moves his pen around his mouth, completely unsanitary maybe, but he prefers it over letting it sit on the desk; it rolls off too much and the sound it makes when it hits the floor is nearly unbearable not to mention the effort to reach and grab it and- god- the stretch back up-

“Like...super shifted into focus mode,” April says, resting her chin on his shoulder, and Donnie allows it because it’s April and it’s comfortable, calming sorta, “You get too quiet.” 

“Hm.”

“See?”

“Uh...huh.”

He’s only kinda doing it on purpose now, because pissing April off is under his list of to-dos and is basically one of the obligatory criteria of being family. Donnie’s sure he’s been a literal pain in her ass since forever and doesn’t really ever plan on changing that as long as she’ll have him. 

And he’s actually really, really surprised at how long April’s managed to have him.

She smells like  yōkan which means she was with Pops, which is probably how she knew where to find him anyway. 

He clicks away at his computer and tries not to jostle her too much off his shoulder. There's just things he  _ has _ to do; with super important missions no longer right around the corner there was actually  _ nothing  _ to do at all- a paradoxical kinda thing Donnie hates to come across.

He gets in moods of feeling like he's just gotta move or make or  _ be productive-  _ over productive, in fact- and almost ironically the Mood strikes at the dullest points in his life.

He hardly feels like dealing with the Oozquitos again. He always feel exhausted afterwards. 

So Donnie finds things, makes up his own shit to do that'll keep him from stressing too hard about everyday stuff. It got a lot easier the older he got, and being in a world filled with people who don't want to pay for high maintenance fixing became pretty much his luck.

A few nicely painted posters (Mikey) and a cool slogan (Leo) later and he sorta had a business in his lab of fixing shit no one else knew how to for so cheap and shipping it back undetected. 

April seems pretty transfixed on his work, because she  _ gets it;  _ Donnie finds she's incredibly smart in ways that make at least some of what he does interesting.

Which is nice. He doesn't  _ complain,  _ of course, to have her here, because there's really something amazing and grounding about April O'neil.

"I have to do something," he says abruptly, but knows that April already gets him, "It's just coding, 's easy stuff." 

"Mm-hm...okay, Dee," April hums back, her voice sleepy and not too eager to put up a fight.

But Donnie somehow feels he has to defend himself anyway.

"I'm not tired, thank you. I slept great last night, actually."

"That's cool, I'm happy for you."

"Oh are you?"

"Yep,  _ wholeheartedly _ ," April drawls, letting her arms fall on either side of Donnie, cheek still against his shoulder, bunching up the fabric of his hoodie.

He lets her breathing distract his mind from overthinking, though he's made quite another talent at that (pops says donnie is the kind of kid who always has a surprise about him, always mastering something new, so he'll take 'overthinking to the point of feeling sick' as one of 'em), and he tries to gear his mind towards  _ working.  _

But Donnie knows April. Nine or so good years of friendship kinda did that. He knows when she wants to say something and knows she'll never  _ not  _ keep that down gracefully.

It's scary and weird that he can almost predict the second she'll crack; it's a shift in her breathing and a certain hesitation that gives it away. Donnie's just really lucky he's gotten familiar enough to put meaning to that.

"Mikey's worried…" is what April says, quiet but not passive. She  _ wants  _ him to know this and not in a way he can shrug off. 

Doesn't mean Donnie won't try. Because he's stubborn and a little bit of an asshole.

"Michael is  _ always  _ worried. It's his shtick-"

"Dee-"

"Correction. It's  _ Raph's  _ shtick. It's more of Mikey's  _ hobby. _ Like the kind you decide to pick up again after a couple weeks of boredom-"

April laughs, not because he's funny, Donnie thinks. He's as just predictable to her as she is to him, and  _ that-  _ maybe that's what's so funny.

"You know, this is a serious issue and should be treated  _ seriously-  _ like, as in, gettin' sleep and eating more than pop tarts 'n shit." 

"I just told you," Donnie says, a bit of a forced smile over the shoulder, "I got six hours in. I ate food. Hell, I even went outside. I'm not...a fucking invalid." 

He hates the way he says it, hates the way it makes him  _ feel  _ and, god, he hates that he  _ knows  _ that's not what April meant. He shouldn't do this to her or Mikey or anyone and it really…really fucking sucks.

* * *

**Several Weeks Later**

It’s dark in the plane Donnie exists in. He sits. Waits for food, waits for something to click, to make sense, and it never really does. He knows himself, that there’s more to him and to life than this, but it’s too far out of reach, and leaves him empty. 

The woman that comes to see him asks questions. Asks for his name, where he thinks he is, and to identify pictures. 

Before, he could do all of that. At least vocalize it. 

“Hm. I have no answers...perhaps, if you bring me more... _ inventions-” _

There’s a figure, that Donnie recognizes as somewhat like his own, that stands in front of the source of the voice. The figure is angry, or sad- Donnie at the very least, can comprehend these things still. 

“We give you more and it’s the same shit, we want our brother back-  _ now.”  _

The words are muffled, Donnie feels like he’s underwater. He should know that voice, or that figure. 

And this becomes repetitive. He wakes, he eats, he sleeps, he listens to three questions, he blinks at this woman, a figure like his own- similar or bigger or smaller- yells at the woman. He goes back to sleep. 

The figure similar to him cups his head and tells him many things, too much for Donnie to really grasp, but the safety and anguish he feels in the moment their skin connects is hard to process. 

The hand brings water to him and he drinks, and the voice says  _ sorry  _ almost as repeatedly as everything else. 

Donnie isn’t sure what it should feel sorry for. He’s  _ fine.  _

* * *

In due time the things that become habit fall away and die. Donnie isn’t sure when, but the little space he’s kept in changes, and he’s in a place that holds more affinity than he’s used to. 

It’s the smells. They’re familiar. And the sounds. It’s a lot and it’s almost scary. And when he wanders into the Big Space, where there’s soft laughter that somehow he knows is somber, Donnie wonders why that sound stops. 

Donnie lays down when his body is ready, and gets up all the same. 

He gets in a new rhythm: he wakes, eats, he sits with something that’s warm and furry and stares blankly at flashing screens. He eats again, taking in small spoonfuls when a hand, with five fingers and soft, gets close, and looks into the eyes but finds no meaning there. 

Hands coax him here and there, and he just goes. And a night, three things huddle close to him, and tell him stories. 

“Dad totally flipped his shit,” one says, and Donnie isn't sure why the voice is warbly, “But it was kinda worth it…like he was  _ completely hairless. _ ” 

Above the sounds, coming from the flashing screen and from these mouths, comes some foreign noise to Donnie. It may be a laugh. But it isn’t much like what he’s heard before. 

It sounds like sand. It  _ feels  _ like sand, the noise coming up from his throat, and out past his lips. He feels it in his chest, and in his stomach. 

Donnie laughs, and wonders why these figures won’t stop staring. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end! you all okay? :3

**Author's Note:**

> one of the most compelling things about donnie is his brain and so this was such an interesting task to do but i'm so happy i received it!! stay tuned for the next chapters!


End file.
